I did something really dumb today.
I could be dead right now. Easily.
Almost home, the final turn on to the street I've called home for 36 years, I turned left out of the bike lane and across the street right in front of a car.
The driver slowed, I think.
The car's left front bumper missed my bike's rear tire by inches.
I say I'm all about safety. Mark and I bought more blinky lights for our bikes. We bought more reflectors for our helmets and our ankles. We bought white cycling water-repellant jackets with reflector tape all over them. And we're using the blinky lights and the reflectors and the awesome jackets.
And then I go and do something so stupid and careless I'm ashamed to admit it; I can hardly believe it happened even though I was the one sitting on the bike that almost got hit by a car at the corner of Holmes Lane and Laurel Lane at 4:05 pm today.
Mark has been sweet about it. He hasn't bugged me. I stopped the bike when he caught up with me--after that car plus another one or two had passed--and promised him I would never, never do that again. I promised that I will always come to a complete stop at that intersection and walk my bike across. No more hasty glances over my shoulder assuming everything is ok. Nope, not me.
And Mark, so kindly, hasn't said a word more.
Later this evening, bouncing up the back steps into the house after running a (car) errand, I thought to myself, "I'm so glad I can walk myself up these steps. I'm so glad I'm not in the hospital. So glad I'm not in the morgue."
They say teens think they will live forever, and it's true that they mostly do. But sometimes 60ish folks fall into that trap, too.